


Turned Topsy-Turvy

by Cave_of_the_mounds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, Light Angst, Medical Conditions, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 12:15:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13364508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cave_of_the_mounds/pseuds/Cave_of_the_mounds
Summary: Witches and angels never make things easy, and the poor reader suffers because of it.Also posted to my Tumblr @butiaintgonnaloveemWritten for @iwantthedean's Sickie Challenge





	Turned Topsy-Turvy

The Latin rolls off her tongue fast enough to make an auctioneer wet his pants. Between the ringing in my ears from the last shot I took at her and Dean’s groans of discomfort from the floor next to me I can’t make out the words. Instead I catch a few sharp sounds of consonants as her voice rises in volume. I’m too busy trying to focus on an escape plan to bother trying to read her lips, which is dumb, as I can see Sam creeping in from the side, saving the day at the last minute as the Winchesters tend to do. He catches her off guard, taking her down with a well-placed bullet. The sound echoes, sending another wave of ringing and the whoosh whoosh whoosh through my head while I listen to the blood rush through my system; hearing and feeling the hoarseness of my breathing and the friction beneath my shoes as I shift a little in place to get my bearings. **  
**

Sam grabs my cheek, pulling my eyes to his, silently seeking reassurance as he moves in front of me. I let my face relax and offer a quick nod, giving him what he needs before he crouches down to where Dean lays crumpled on the floor, his eyes wide and chest heaving, but nodding at Sam that he’s okay, too.

It takes a moment for everything to sink in and to make myself drop the tension in my shoulders. Right about now I wish I’d taken them up on their offer to let me stay home and get over the last bit of my cold. I shake my head at all the wouldacouldashoulda, trying to knock the ringing away without any luck. Sam hauls Dean upright and we all survey the scene, taking in the mess from the fight and the body of the witch crumpled on the floor. A quick nod shared between us and we set off to start the clean-up.

The ringing on my ears persists as we make it back to the hotel and guzzle down aspirin, whiskey and beer. It’s the usual wrap-up mixture of exhaustion and relief, shock and soreness. Sam’s asking about the spell the witch was trying to cast, but neither Dean nor I can offer anything useful, much to Sam’s annoyance.

“Well what about you? You could’ve paid attention.”

“I was trying to sneak in to save  _you_ ,” he defends, eyes calling us dumbasses without the need to speak.

“Let’s just say it was both your faults,” Dean jumps in, “You-” he points at me, “Shouldn’ta missed that shot, and Sammy should’ve put his listening ears on.”

“Oh, shut it Moaning Myrtle,” Sam snaps, pulling a low snicker from me while Dean rolls his eyes back into his head. “Like any of us could hear anything over your wailing and crying.” Dean snaps his eyes back to Sam, one brow pointed up in annoyance.

The bickering continues, lightening the mood as the alcohol flows and our muscles ease.

The next morning’s rough. My eyes drag open and an unwanted sense on wakefulness jolts through me, quickly followed by a sour mood. I know that any attempts to continue sleeping are useless. A weird quivering in my stomach makes my body more aware than my head can handle at the moment, and I listen to the sounds of the guys sleeping mixing with the noise of traffic and doors slamming throughout the motel. Knowing I have first crack at the shower is the only incentive to being up.

I take my time showering, drying my hair, attempting to not look like a hungover zombie. By the time I’m out, both the guys are up, rolling up clothes and getting ready to shower and head out themselves. Dean brushes past me for his turn in the bathroom as Sam straightens up, tossing a shirt at me that I miss completely, letting it fall to the floor over my feet.

“You hanging today?”

I blink for a moment until Sam’s words make sense, “Huh?”

“Hungover? You know you don’t need to try to keep up with Dean.”

“What? No, why?”

“You just - you kinda look like you’re in pain,” his eyes focus on my forehead and I realize my eyebrows are scrunched up.

“Yeah, I guess. I dunno. I just feel…off.” I shrug.

“Like how _off_?” He pulls his head back, eyes narrowing as he focuses on me.

“Uhh, I don’t know. Just…off. You know that feeling, like-like anxiety? Kinda? I just feel off, almost woozy, my ear’s still ringing.”

He nods, just a quick jerk of his chin in acknowledgment, and I can feel his eyes looking over me as he thinks. “Yeah, well, firing those shots in the basement didn’t do much good for any of our ears.”

“Yeah,” I nod, but feel my face pinch up again as a fresh wave of discomfort catches in my gut. Suddenly, it takes too much effort to stand, gravity sucks me down and my muscles make no effort to fight it.

Sam makes it to the floor at the same time I do, hands grasping at my shoulders to hold me upright. “Whoa whoa, hey. What just happened?”

I groan, feeling something pulling at my head, a dizzying rush of lightheadedness making my head tilt to the side. “I don’t. Ughh, I don’t know. I just needed…down.” I pull against Sam and sink further down, bending my elbows and hunching onto my hands and knees. “I need down,” I moan, feeling nothing but the desperate need to stop moving.

“The hell? She still drunk?” Dean grunts out from beside me. The scent of his soap drifts out from the bathroom, catching in the back of my throat like a bad cough drop, making me want to wretch away the perfumy taste.

“I don’t know, she just went down.” Sam says over me.

“Well is she okay?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know what’s going on.”

They continue to talk over me. I can’t think much beyond my discomfort, the sensation of dizziness making my eyes roll, and just wanting to feel -  _not this_.

I start to crawl, a slow pull of my limbs along the carpet, muscles weak and shaking with effort, heat flushing my cheeks, and lips hanging open as I suck in air.

Dean grabs one arm, Sam the other, and they haul me up. It’s too fast. The movement makes my stomach clench and head roll back as I lose my bearings. Everything’s moving, spinning, wobbling, and it won’t stop. I can’t keep track of where they’re moving me until I feel the mattress edge against my legs, then the flat top beneath my back and their hands pulling my calves straight to lie flat.

The spots on the ceiling spin in my vision. I close my eyes to stop the swirling, only to find that with my eyes closed, it’s almost worse. The spinning turns into a rolling feeling, like I’m riding waves, bed tilting wildly on an unsteady axis. I cringe and will my eyes to open, finding the corner of the room and focusing on the spot, anything to make the spinning come to an end.

I hear the panic in Dean’s tone before the words register. “Hey! Hey! You need to talk to us. What’s going on? You with us?”

“I…hnnnn…I don’t know.” I can’t concentrate on anything but the unsteady sense of motion, my stomach getting weaker with every wobbly rotation. “Spinning. It’s all spinning.”

I dig my fingers into the blanket, the pilling of the polyester irritating my nerves even further. My skin starts to ache, sensitive to the heat rising and sweat gathering on my skin, and the first heave from my stomach catches me off guard. I swallow it down before choking on the saliva pooling in my throat.

“Shit! Get a bucket!” Dean yells, and then I feel hands moving my shoulders again, and my muscles tighten and convulse beyond my control, pushing bile up into the back of my throat. I sputter and cough from the burning acidity at the back of my tongue before opening wide and letting it heave out from deep in my throat.

The effort makes blood rush my face to the point of pain, skin tingling in pins and needles as I hold my breath and heave again, my stomach making its best effort to empty itself. I feel even more lightheaded, my brain floating and bobbing inside of my skull and eyes rolling like some googley-eyed doll.

“What the hell, man?!”

“Dude! I don’t know. Check for hex bags.”

I feel their hands leave me, setting me onto the bed again. I roll onto my back, willing my eyes open and searching for a steady point. I hear them tearing apart the room, cushions and clothes and wrappers tapping against the walls as they’re thrown about recklessly. Grunts of frustration following angry huffs and muttered “nothing here’s”.

“Hey. Hey,” I feel Dean grab my arm. I start to move my eyes, regretting it instantly. “Okay, you’re okay, just take it easy.”

“Mhmmm,” I moan. “Call Cas.”

“Tried already, got nothing. Okay,” his voice is soft, almost a whisper, but quick with panic, “Can you talk to me? I need you to tell us what’s going on? Can you do that for me?”

I place my hands on my forehead, hoping to hold myself still. “I dunno,” I croak, “Just sp-spinning. Everything spinning.”

“We gotcha, okay? Just relax.”

I feel Dean move off the bed, then some kind of whispered argument from them before the bed sinks again and I whine at the motion.

“Shit! Sorry,” Sam hisses. “Okay, I’m right here. Dean’s gonna go check out the house, see what we missed. I need you to really think for me. We need to know what the witch was saying so we can figure out a counter-spell.”

“Nooo. Sam, no.” I curl myself into a ball and turn myself onto my side. “I can’t. It’s too much. I think - I need a doctor.”

I hear him huff out a breath in annoyance, but he doesn’t push further. Instead he pulls a blanket gently over me, and sets a hand between my shoulder blades, helping to keep me from swaying with the motions in my head until I manage to drift off to sleep.

I jerk awake to the sensation of falling. Someone is tilting the mattress, making gravity pull me down the other side, and though my body tilts into it, I never fall, just feel the constant pull. My nerves tingle and muscles jerk against it, and my head begins to swirl. I know I’m moaning pathetically, but can’t make myself stop, everything’s too miserable.

“Hey, darlin’. How you holding up?” Dean’s voice is gentle, hopeful in spite of my groans. Some kind of negative-sounding moan comes from me and he takes in a loud, deep breath. “Alright, well can you sit up a little? Drink some water for me?”

It sounds like the worst thing I could do to myself right now, and I groan again to let him know just that.

“Come on, you gotta do it. Just a little,” he insists and starts to sneak his hand underneath my shoulders to prop me up. I keep my eyes closed, afraid to open them to see the world spinning around me, but the sensation starts to creep in even beneath my closed eyelids. Somehow the nothing I’m not even staring at starting to twirl.

Dean holds the cool edge of the glass against my lips, pushing them apart and tilting slowly until I can feel the water. It’s from the tap, I can tell by the strong mineral taste, and I slowly sip as it trickles in. Cool, refreshing as it starts to clear away the remaining taste of vomit and dry-mouth, then soothing the burn in the back of my throat. He softly encourages me until he thinks I’ve had enough, then just as slowly pulls away the glass and props a pillow in place of his arm behind me.

“Can you talk?”

I can feel the cold water settling in my stomach and it does a little flip. I bring an arm up over my eyes to shield the light as I will my eyelids to part and eyes to slowly focus on the room. It immediately starts to sway and I try to find a point to focus on to keep it still.

“Yeah.”

“Good. That’s good. Anything you can remember from last night? Any of the Latin at all?”

“No,” I smack my lips together, feeling the sting of saliva starting to pool beneath my tongue, “I couldn’t hear anything. I wasn’t watching her lips.”

“There’s gotta be something, right now we’re sitting here with a whole lotta Jack Squat.”

“Fuck off, Dean.” I feel the heat flushing my skin again. “I think maybe I should go see a doctor.”

“Nah, no. Come on, you gotta give us something.”

“Dean-” My stomach clenches.

“A word. A hand gesture. Anything.”

The water is still cool as it makes its way back up and out my throat. The mixture it makes with the bile not burning as much as before, but still making me gag and cough. I bring a hand up to rub away the tears at the corners of my eyes, squinting between my wet lashes and catching the sight of Dean’s surprise and disgust at the mess I just spewed onto his arm and bedspread.

A resigned look settles over his face as he stands and starts to peel away his soiled shirt. “I’m gonna head to the front desk, pay for another couple days and find the laundry room. Sammy, you ahhh, you take care of this.”

“Sorry, Dean,” I mumble as I let my head roll and fall back onto the pillow.

“It’s…it’s cool, we just gotta figure this all out.”

“Cas?” I beg.

“No answer.”

“What an asshole.” I close my eyes, squeezing them shut to try to block out the rocking sensation, jerking my muscles to fight the pull to roll and whine at the discomfort, barely hearing the conversation between Sam and Dean in another part of the room.

“Just keep looking - the lore, the books I got from her place, there’s gotta be something, man.”

“Dude, I’m trying.”

After a few more minutes, I hear the door open and close, then a sigh from Sam and the steady turn of pages from a book. I can’t tell how long I lie there, listening and focusing on being still until I fall asleep again.

And that’s the cycle that goes on. I spin and topple, watch the ceiling swirl above me while the mattress tilts and rolls; up and down don’t make any sense, everything is both up and down, constantly in some sort of twirling freefall even though I feel the mattress against me.

In between pushing water and the occasional cracker or slice of bread down my throat, the guys try different remedies and counter-spells. Mixtures of herbs and Latin, mysterious broths with questionable floating chunks, powders and oils sprinkled over me - none of it helps, most of them make me feel worse. I whine and pray for Castiel, and when he doesn’t answer, I scream and curse him out for not answering. He doesn’t answer to that, either.

I feel weaker every minute, stomach churning with both hunger and nausea, mind slowing, and body tired and shaking with every move. Muscles ache and cramp from heaving and curling in on myself. My skulls throbs, my tongue clicks against the dryness in my cheeks. Their kind whispers and nudges of encouragement develop into panicked pleas and desperate prayers, though no angel answers. I even hear whispers of summoning Crowley, and that’s where I draw the line.

“Take me. To a. God damn hospital.”

I don’t need to look at them to know they’re having some kind of facial journey conversation over me. I peel open my eyes, just catching Sam’s mouth opening and closing as he nervously chooses his words.

“Ah-I I don’t know if that’s the best idea. We still don’t know how you’re cursed, and if we don’t figure it out - you…you’re…” he sighs.

“I know. But at least they could make me comfortable.” I breathe shallowly, eyes hurting and unfocused, head floating and still wobbling. “You guys tried. I don’t want it to be like this. The -the end…I can’t deal with it anymore.”

I roll to my side, sliding until I feel the edge of the bed beneath my leg. They hesitate, still as statues, shoulders drawn tight and ready to argue. “I just can’t.”

They nod, lips in tight lines, hands on their hips as they accept my decision, it’s a quiet moment until they spring into action grabbing stuff and getting ready to go. Sam bundles me in a blanket, cautiously buckling the seatbelt over my lap, then Dean wedges a small trash can between my knees and wraps my hands around it.

“If you need to spew, spew into this.” He smiles, knowing how much I love his stupid movie references.

I smile weakly in return, “Don’t worry, I won’t make a mess in the mirthmobile.”

He pats my knee and heads for the front seat, starting Baby with a rumble that shakes its way right through my gut, breaking my short-lived promise.

Dean, to his credit, drives as easily as he can after I whimper during the first turn and sob into the wastebin. He and Sam apologize at each pothole and red light, Sam gives me the ETA as he directs Dean from the GPS.

Sam crawls out of the car as soon as Dean pulls up to the ER, giving me the chauffeur service. As soon as he gets me out of the car and into a wheelchair, Dean peels away to park Baby and join us inside.

The check-in process feels like it’s taking forever as they ask about my symptoms and medical history, and I struggle to remember my fake identity for the hospital records. The nurses are patient with me, not so much with Sam or Dean though when they interject with answers on my behalf and Dean lets his impatience shine through with a few snappy demands.

“We’re going to take her back, get her set up and then we will let you know when you can come on in, okay?” The nurse tells them, her words sweet, but voice a sharp edge of ‘do not fuck with me right now.’

“Christo.”

“What was that?” she snaps.

“Christ. It’s nothing, where’s the bathroom?

She points somewhere behind him with her chin and Dean huffs off back to the waiting room, Sam nodding in acceptance. “See you soon,” he pats my shoulder before going after Dean.

The nurse is gentle as she wheels me to a room, helps me get into a gown and down into the bed, my body fighting the spinning sensation with every bit of movement. She tucks me in with a warmed blanket from the cabinet.

She goes through the typical questions about my personal safety, which make me look at her funny until I remember that not only am I in rough shape from being sick, but also from fighting the witch - that, mixed with being flanked by the Winchesters must have set off some alarms. I just hope they’re not being detained by security. When I finally convince her of my well-being, she gets an IV drip started and tells me to rest while I wait for the doctor.

I nearly drift off until I hear the grating metal of the curtain slide, and Sam and Dean immediately hover over me.

“Fuck, thought we were gonna have to pull FBI rank just to get back here.” Dean just starts to bitch about the wait when the doctor arrives, flinging the curtain back and looking way too chipper for the time of day.

“Good evening,” he squirts some antibacterial lotion on his hands and shoots a wary glance at the guys at the side of the bed, “So, I understand you’re feeling dizzy?”

“Understatement,” Dean mumbles, followed by a smack from Sam.

I go through and repeat everything I had already told the nurse, recalling the last few days and groaning when a bad wave of the spins hit me. The doctor takes everything in with very serious nods and notes when something seems interesting. He gently examines me, feeling around for pain in my abdomen listening to my heart and my lungs, my eyes and ears.

“Any recent health issues?”

“A cold?” I offer, hoping to end this quickly.

“How many alcoholic beverages do you drink in a week?”

I hear the guys shift at the question. “A few, depends on work.”

“Is your job stressful?”

“Yeah, it can be.”

The doctor hums and stares at his computer, typing notes, “Fatigued?”

“Usually.”

More clicking. “Alright, I’ll be back shortly. You just get comfortable.”

I start to shiver as the saline solution pumps into my veins. The guys drag chairs up to the bed, fussing over me and joking about my epic hangover. They turn on the television and after watching quietly for a moment, Sam brings up a recent hunt. They start going over some of our greatest hits, memories of hunts and long car rides. It’s nothing too sappy, but still a total feel-good moment. I feel better than I have in days. I’m ready to be comfortable and just let this be how it goes. Easy. Quick. Make me comfortable and let me go. Every hunting trip ends sometime. The guys seem reluctant to go along, but don’t fight either.

“I’m glad you’re here, guys. Really,” I swallow the lump in my throat, glad I’m unable to form any tears at the moment.

“No place else we’d be,” Sam assures me, his eyes a little glassy. “Only wish we could fix this.”

“Don’t you dare.” I tell him sharply, knowing too well the guilt Sam holds on to and the lengths they tend to go. “I mean it.”

“Still no Cas,” Dean tells me. “I’ll keep trying, though. You get comfortable, but not too comfortable. Y’understand me?”

I can’t do anything but nod, Dean’s words hitting me hard enough to make my eyes burn with wanna-be tears.

The nurse changes out the IV bag when my body drains the first one, injecting something into the line she says should help with the nausea. Not long after, the doctor makes his way back in.

“How you doing in here? Fluids helping?”

“Uh,” I take inventory of myself, noticing the change - how my skin doesn’t feel so tight, the dryness in my mouth disappearing. “Yeah.”

“Good. We’ll keep that up.” He settles down on the hospital bed by my feet, and I zone out. I feel bad, he doesn’t know that I’m cursed and that there’s nothing he can do for me other than ease the ending for me. I hope she didn’t throw anything too nasty in there, nothing that would traumatize him, he seems nice. I focus on him again after he pats my hand. “We’ll monitor you a while longer to make sure the dehydration gets taken care of, and then get you on out of here.”

“Out of here?” Sam asks, voice shaky with hope.

“Yes. As long as your vitals check out, there’s no need to keep you. You’ve got a condition called Labyrinthitis. Not anything we need to keep you over.”

“Laby-what?” Dean mutters.

“Labyrinthitis,” he over-enunciates, “It’s an inflammation in the inner ear that can cause vertigo.” He pauses for a second to let me think it through, questions ready to escape as he continues, “Most likely developed from that cold you mentioned. That on top stress and alcohol consumption, and that’s probably how the infection took hold.”

“An ear infection?” Sam clarifies.

“Ahh, yes,” he answers cheerfully.

“And what can be done about it?”

“Well. Nothing. It’s a viral infection, should clear up on its own. I’ll send a prescription out for you for something to help with the nausea, are you familiar with Zofran?” He continues to talk, but most of the words turn into a dull droning sound while frustration tightens the muscles in my chest. “So, we’ll get you recharged with some fluids and then get you on your way. Shouldn’t be more than a couple hours.”

The spins start to take hold, and my head starts to rotate with them. I hear the words, but nothing seems to be settling just yet.

“She’s not - she’s not  _dying_? You sure you don’t need to run some more tests or, or something?” Sam stutters.

“Dying?” the doctor lets out a chuckle, “No. She’s just badly dehydrated and suffering from a case of vertigo. Like I said, things should clear up. Just follow up with your doctor this week and if your condition worsens, make sure you come on back.”

He hands over some paperwork on the condition which Sam grabs and starts reading through. Dean sits there frozen, staring at the spot the doctor had just vacated.

No one says anything.

Sam finishes going over the paperwork, rubbing his hand over his mouth, “So…an ear infection. Not a curse.”

A noise near the door makes us stop. All three of us turn our attention to the new presence in the room, finding Castiel standing near the corner of the room. Dean and I both immediately, and quite unkindly, ask where the hell he’s been.

“Angel business.”

“Yeah? Well we had a big fucking scare man. You couldn’t pop down or give us some kind of answer?” Dean whisper-shouts.

“Important. Angel. Business. It ranks higher than an ear infection.” His annoyed tone gives me pause.

“Wait. You  _knew?!_  And you didn’t help me?!”

“Cas, come on man, you can’t just ghost us like that-”

“I am not at your beck and call for minor health inconveniences. You’ll recover. I have to get back.”

And he’s gone.

“Fucking angels.” Dean hisses, the color drained from his face and eyes practically vibrating with the conflict of relief and distress. “Fucking doctors. What good are either of them doing right now?”

“Well, you guys weren’t doing any better with all that witch crap. You’re lucky you didn’t actually curse me!” I snarl, trying to keep anyone outside the room from hearing.

“You’re gonna be lucky if I don’t try to curse you now,” Dean threatens and stomps out, flinging the curtain closed behind him.

“Aww, but Dean you were so sweet to me. The Wayne to my Garth!” I shout toward the hallway. I hear him grumble and his boots continue to stomp away. I lean back, exhausted after the brief five minutes of excitement.

“Sorry, Sam,” I whisper. A swirling mixture of emotions making my chest tighten. Or maybe just a fresh round of spins. Either way, I feel like a mess.

“It’s alright. It’s hard to remember that normal things happen to us sometimes.”

“Normal? This doesn’t feel normal, just really shitty. I blame Cas. Can we just blame Cas for all this? He could have fixed me.” I cover my face with my hands, rubbing at the crust by my eyes, before slapping them hard against my thighs. “That sonofabitch! He left without fixing me!”

“Well, relatively normal.” Sam shrugs apologetically. He then starts to ramble, something about how only five percent of something blah blah blah. He’s on a research tangent about my diagnosis. I tune him out while I silently pray to Cas, knowing he can hear me.

‘Castiel, guardian angel of trenchcoats or whatever, the next time I see your douchey ass…”


End file.
